


The Art of Survivorship

by chronic_writer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cancer, F/M, M/M, Slow Build Castiel/Dean Winchester, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-04-23 18:57:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4888198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chronic_writer/pseuds/chronic_writer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Distraught and stricken with Multiple Myeloma, twenty-three year old Dean Winchester finds an unlikely friendship in Castiel, a young man fighting Leukemia, after they meet in the infusionarium at their local hospital.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**-Prologue-**

 

            Dean didn't know what was happening, or where he was. There was a buzzing in his ears; black dots crowded his vision. His body was tingling, and not in a good way.

            He moved his fingers slowly, trying to grasp onto something, anything that would make him stop _falling_. The unnerving sensations in his body were enough to make him nauseous.

            He grabbed onto something soft beneath him. He wasn't falling, he was lying down, but still gravity was pulling his body down, hard and fast.

            Shoving his hands into the softness, he tried to pull himself up. Murmured noise filled the air above him and he looked around, throwing his head left and right.

            One voice broke through the haze of it all, "Dean? Dean!"

            Dean knew that voice, he would recognize it anywhere. He looked around again, feeling helpless, unable to see much of anything except a few colorless blobs.

            "Sammy!" He shouted.

            There was suddenly something on top of him, hands maybe, he couldn't tell. They were hot and heavy, pushing into him, burning through his skin. The voice was much closer now.

            "Dean I'm here. I'm right here."

            Dean's words came out stuttered, "S-Sam, I c-can't feel m-my legs."

            "It's going to be okay, Dean, don't worry."

            Sam sounded so sure. _He always sounded so sure_ , Dean thought. For nineteen years old, Sam really had his shit together.

            Another voice came into focus above Dean. It was a woman's. She sounded out of breath, "Sir, you can't come any further."

            Dean didn't hear a reply, but the woman spoke again anyway, "We will call you when he's settled."

            Then a hand on his shoulder, pressing down with the same strength as before, "Sir, please lay your head down."

            Dean wanted to grab onto the hand, "I can't f-feel, p-please."

            "It's alright, sweetie, we're going to take care of you."

            Dean lowered his head down onto the softness there, his mind suddenly racing. Where had all these thoughts come from?

            _Who were these people? Where was he?_ He was moving fast. The walls were white. _Hospital? What happened? Car accident?_ He didn't feel like he was bleeding anywhere. _Can you feel yourself bleeding?_

            He couldn't move his arms. He couldn't feel his legs, they were numb. He couldn't feel anything.

 

*

 

            Dean woke slowly, his eyelids heavy; body aching. The light in the room was soft enough not to hurt his eyes as they opened and took in the space before him.

            A hospital room.

            He looked down, he was in a hospital bed, an IV in one arm connected to a rather large machine next to him, dripping some kind of clear liquid into his body.

            Panic struck him. He didn't _look_ injured from what he could see. His legs did hurt like hell, though, and he vaguely remembered not being able to feel them last night. He lifted the sheet that was on top of him and peeked down to his legs, past the hospital gown - when, and how, had he gotten into a hospital gown? His legs were wrapped in large blue cuffs that kept inflating and deflating around his calves. He dropped the sheet, confusion setting in.

            He looked to his left and found his brother asleep in the chair there, head against the wall behind him, arms folded over his chest.

            "Sammy," Dean hissed, "Sam, wake up." He threw out his arm, trying to rouse him, but couldn't close the distance.

            Sam inhaled deeply as he opened his eyes and was on alert in seconds.

            "Dean, you're awake! Are you okay? How are you feeling?"

            Dean blinked, still confused, "What, uh..."

            His attention was ripped away as a man appeared outside the window of his room.

            The window overlooked the reception area of the hospital wing, and currently the blinds were up, giving Dean a full view of the hall, and everyone in the hall a full view of him.

            Dean's jaw tensed as the man turned toward the room, but instead of coming inside, stood just before the door, mouthing off to some poor nurse in a Winnie the Pooh scrub top.

            Dean nearly growled, "What's he doing here?"

            Next to him, Sam leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, "I had to call him Dean."

            "Why?" Dean snapped.

            "You've been out for three days, I didn't know what else to do."

            "What?" No, Sam must have been mistaken, three days?

            "Bobby said - "

            "Oh, Bobby said," Dean started, "Where is that son of a bitch?"

            A knock on the door interrupted them, and in walked the man from the hall. The man Dean so desperately wanted to disappear.

            "Dean." The man spoke his name as if he were calling it off an attendance log.

            Dean regarded his father with careful eyes, "Sir."

            "Hiya, Sammy."

            "Hey, dad." Sam gave him a small wave from his chair.

            Their father eyed him, "You're wearing the same clothes as yesterday."

            Dean scoffed; Sam glared at him before turning again to their father, "Yeah, I, uh, slept here last night."

            Another knock on the door broke the tension in the room, this one softer, more delicate.

            "Good morning, boys," the woman started as she entered the room, her beige heels clicking loudly against the tile floor, "Dr. Meg Masters."

            Their father stepped forward offering his hand to the woman, who shook it instantly, "John Winchester. Dean's my boy."

            Dean rolled his eyes at his father's attempt to charm the woman. Since when had he ever been his father's _boy_? The man didn't even know his middle name - the one he himself had given him.

            Dr. Masters sighed then. Dean noticed she looked tired; beyond tired. He wasn't sure what time it was. He suspected morning from the exchange Sam had with their father just a few minutes prior, but then, how could this woman be _that_ tired in the morning?

            She stepped closer to the hospital bed, "Mister Winchester... Dean, as you may be aware, you've been out for close to three days." She paused, welcoming something from Dean, a question, maybe. When nothing came, she continued, "Like I've explained to your father and brother, at first we weren't sure what was going on, why you passed out, why you came to and then left us again. We ran some tests, blood tests. At first everything looked okay, but upon closer review I caught something small. I didn't find it a cause for alarm until your legs started to swell while you were out. So I ran another test,"

            She paused again, took a breath, and continued. The silence between her words was deafening.

            "The second test confirmed what had been found in the first. You have a very high blood calcium level, much too high for someone your age. The protein levels in your blood are high as well, which is not a common occurrence in one who is generally ruled as a healthy individual. I also found your red blood cell count to be surprisingly low, which leads me to believe you are anemic."

            Dean just looked at her. He wanted to ask her what she was talking about, but he couldn't get his lips to move. What was she even saying? He was still stuck on the fact that he had been unconscious for three days.

            Sam seemed to pick up on his brother's unsaid thoughts and spoke up, "What does all of this mean for Dean?"

            Dr. Masters gave Sam a small smile before regarding the files in her hands. It was Dean's chart, and a sinking feeling settled in both of the boy's stomachs as they realized she was merely buying time.

            "The test results," She looked straight at Dean as she spoke, "lead us to a diagnosis of multiple myeloma."

            "What?" Dean's voice was no more that a whisper, a fragmented noise across his breath.

            Dr. Masters took a deep breath, "I'm terribly sorry Mister Winchester, you have cancer."

            Deans heart stopped; his green eyes went wide. It was only then that he noticed the oxygen hose in his nose, pumping air into his lungs, forcing him to breathe.

            Cancer.

            _Cancer?_

            Dean was innately aware of Sam reaching over and grabbing his hand. He tried to grab back, but something was stopping him from moving.

            He couldn't have cancer; not him. Not Dean Winchester. Not after the hand he'd already been dealt in life.

            He felt cold; alone. Even though Sam was right next to him, hell practically on top of him, he felt alone. When had this happened? How did they not know he'd had cancer all this time?

            He struggled to hear Dr. Masters talk, though she was speaking more to John now, than to him. He heard their words as though he was listening through water.

            "How can this be?" John asked in disbelief.

            "Multiple myeloma can go undetected for years. It's a miracle it was even caught now, at Dean's age." The doctors words were careful.

            _A miracle? At his age? What did that mean?_

            John's voice was quiet then, "How, um, how long?" He didn't finish his thought.

            Dr. Masters understood, "I'm unsure at this time. Based off his blood tests it seems as though it's growing rapidly, but we really need to order a few more test to determine the intensity of this. Some xrays, a bone marrow test, possibly a PET scan. That will give us some insight as to the best form of treatment."

            Dean watched in shock as John's head began to shake, Could it be he actually cared for Dean, that he was scared for his eldest son?

            _Of course he cares,_ Sam would say, _you're his son_.

            _But you're the golden boy,_ he would tell his brother, _I'm the fuck up._

            But maybe, after all those years of not so secretly blaming Dean for his mother's death; a car accident when Dean was four years old; maybe John was coming around.

            "I can't deal with this right now." John's voice was gruff.

            Then again, maybe not.

            John pushed past the doctor and nearly ran out of the door.

            Dean winced as Sam's voice rose next to him, "Dad!" He stood, making for the door, "Dad!"

            Dr. Masters stepped in front of him, "Maybe it's best if you give him a minute."

            Sam's voice was low now, "You don't understand. If he leaves this hospital, he will never come back."

            Dr. Masters eyes widened, "I'm sure it's not like - "

            "It's exactly like that." Sam cut her off, side-stepping away from her and running down the hall after their father.

            Dean wanted to care. He wanted to be angry; at his father, at Dr. Masters, at himself. No matter where his body searched for it, the energy couldn't be found. He slumped further into the hospital bed, trying to make himself disappear.

            He knew Sam running out there after their father was useless. Once John made up his mind, that was that, there was no changing it. Maybe he'd show up at Dean's funeral, once this cancer finished eating away at him. That'd be best, Dean wouldn't have to face him in the flesh again. Why had he even bothered to come today?

            Tears welled in his eyes and he fought hard against them.

            Dr. Masters walked to the side of his bed, placing a hand on top of his blanketed leg, "We've got a lot to talk about."

            Dean could see the hesitation in her eyes, the pity and a hint of guilt. He wondered why anyone would choose to be a cancer doctor; a - he racked his brain for the correct term - an oncologist. It seemed like a job full of bad news and disappointments.

            He met Dr. Masters eyes and nodded, his voice shaking, "Yes, we do."

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading & leaving love! I really appreciate it! Hope you enjoy this chapter! :)

**-1-**

 

            Dean was ushered into the infusionarium and shown to an open seat, slumping into the recliner with a huff as the nurse assisted him in removing his right arm from his shirt. His cheeks flushed as the cooler air in the room picked at the bare skin of his shoulder and rolled across his exposed chest. He winced as the older woman attached an IV to his chest port as if she were sticking a thumb tack to a wall, hot tears wetting the corners of his eyes. They'd warned him how this might feel, they'd gone over every little thing they could think of with him, but that didn't stop the uncomfortable feeling of having a port in your chest, with toxic chemicals running through it. He threw his head back against the seat and, sighing, closed his eyes, trying to ignore the feeling that was quickly spreading through his chest.

            When he lifted his head, he found a pair of blue eyes staring from the seat beside him.

            "Can I help you?" He barked.

            The voice that followed was gentle, "Is this your first time?"

            "Is it that obvious?" Dean looked down at his chest as he spoke, then at the man's next to him. He also had his shirt pulled down and tucked under his armpit. His eyes were quickly drawn to his arm which was littered with tiny bruises, all clustered into the crook of his elbow. They looked like mini galaxies against his pale skin. Dean shuddered.

            "I don't like... hospitals." It wasn't a lie.

            Blue eyes nodded his head in understanding, catching Dean's eyes.

            "I'm Castiel."

            Dean's heart jumped, "Okay." He said, swallowing hard.

            Castiel rolled his eyes, "This is usually the part where you tell me your name."

            Dean blushed, "Oh, right. Dean, I'm Dean."

            "It's nice to meet you, Dean." Castiel's smile was warm, welcoming.

            "I'm nice to meet." Dean blurted out, instantly regretting it. Why did he always talk without thinking? He sighed, rubbing his hand across his face, dragging it down until his fingers traced his chin.

            "I'm sorry, I'm - "

            "Nervous," Castiel finished for him, "It's normal. This becomes... routine after a while."

            Dean nodded his head, his mouth slightly ajar as he contemplated the idea of this becoming routine for him. Panic twisted in his chest; what was he doing here? He wasn't stupid, he knew there was little hope of being cured, why prolong the inevitable? Besides, like he had told his doctor a million times, he felt fine, really, so why did he have to attack the cancer now when it wasn't affecting the way he felt yet?

            He took a deep breath and looked back to Castiel. "What are, uh... What are you... in here... What do you - "

            "Have?" Castiel finished for him again, "Leukemia."

            Dean noticed the way his eyes dimmed when he said the world, but his body remained still. He let him continue.

            "I was diagnosed early last year."

            Dean's eyes flickered to Castiel's arm again, then to his chest, "How many round, or um, cycles, have you done?"

            Castiel followed his eyes, "This is my third. They blew the veins in my arm, they weren't strong enough or something, so now I have this," He pointed to his chest port, "Two more weeks to go and then I get a break."

            Dean nodded, wincing again as the medication ran into his body through his own port. He could only barely feel it, the cool sensation as it entered his blood stream, but it was enough to make him uneasy.

            He swallowed hard, trying to ignore his anxiety and glanced at the beanie that was snugly fit to Castiel's head. It was a deep blue, almost the same color as his eyes, casting his skin more pale than Dean guessed he actually was.

            Castiel caught him looking at his hat before he turned his attention to his own lap.

            "I don't mind your questions, y'know." His voice was sincere.

            Dean peeked up at him, his curiosity getting the better of him, "When did you lose your hair?"

            Castiel tried not to frown, "After my first round. Doc said they caught the cancer a little late and they just started attacking it like crazy. My hair started falling out in clumps after just a few days."

            Dean ran his hand through his own hair, suddenly very self conscious of it. He couldn't bear the thought of losing it; not his hair.

            He spoke again without thinking, his face blushing before the words were even off his tongue, "What did it look like?"

            Castiel paused at his question, cocking his head to the side curiously, but reached into his pocket for his cell phone. He unlocked the screen and began filtering through his photos until he came upon one from two summers ago. He handed the phone over to Dean, who cracked a smile instantly.

            Castiel was standing on a beach in the photo, his feet buried in the sand. He was wearing an old Kansas t-shirt, the letters barely legible, and Dean couldn't help but chuckle at the contrast in color against his lime green swim shorts. His eyes moved up to his hair; it was dark, as Dean could have guessed from his thinning eyebrows, and it was mousy beyond belief. It stood up every which way in the picture, most likely because of the wind. Dean felt an overwhelming urge to run his hands through it, and fought to stifle a groan growing in his throat.

            "Wow." He heard himself say. Then, noticing the arm wrapped around Castiel in the picture, and the much taller man standing next to him, asked, "Who's the guy?"

            Castiel snatched his phone away from Dean, "That's my brother, Gabriel."

            Dean could feel the tension in his voice, "Sorry." He muttered.

            "No, I'm sorry. Things are not... well between us currently. I think this picture was taken the last time I saw him, two years ago. He didn't stick around when I got sick."

            "I feel you," Dean bounced his fist against the chair, "My old man totally freaked when he found out I was sick. He took off and I haven't heard from him since."

            Castiel's head snapped up, "That's awful."

            "Eh," Dean shrugged, "It was pretty much expected. I've got my brother with me, we make a pretty good team."

            Castiel was quiet for a moment, leaving Dean worrying he had said something wrong.

            "How old are you, Dean?"

            "Twenty-three. You?"

            "The same, my birthday just passed."

            Dean's eyes light up, "Well, happy birthday!" He continued once Castiel smiled, "Twenty-three has been a pretty good age so far, except for, you know, the cancer."

            Castiel laughed; Dean smiled at the sound of it. Castiel cocked his head to the side, resting his chin on his hand, "What did they get you for anyway?"

            "Multiple Melioma." Dean sounded unsure as he spoke the words, and a quick glance to Castiel had his pulse racing.

            Castiel's eyes were wide, what was left of his eyebrows were sliding up his forehead.

            "What?" Dean asked, panicked.

            Castiel shook his head, "Nothing, It's pronounced Myeloma, like ' _Mya-loma_ ', is all. But I think I like the way you said it better."

            Dean couldn't help the bark of laughter that escaped him. He caught Castiel's eyes and locked on them. Their laughter ceased but Dean didn't move his eyes away. He liked the idea of Castiel looking at him; the idea of him watching Castiel look at him. He offered a smile and the one he got in return tugged at his heart.

            "How long do they have you in here for?" Castiel asked.

            "Two weeks for now."

            Castiel's face brightened, "Same as me."

            Dean nodded as Castiel's nurse approached and began unhooking him from his unit. He watched his face as she worked around him; the way his eyes lowered and his head dipped down as if he were embarrassed.

            "Come on, sweet pea, let's get you up." The woman's accent was thick but Dean couldn't place it.

            He tried not to stare as she helped Castiel stand, one arm wrapped tightly around his waist, the other hand grasping at his arm. Dean's face twisted with concern as he watched Castiel's small frame move past him.

            Castiel turned to look at him before disappearing out the door, "See you tomorrow, Dean."

            "Yeah," Dean replied, "tomorrow."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter is late, and that it sucks. Thanks for sticking with my story guys, you all rock.

**-2-**

 

            Dean floored it out of the parking garage, the tires of the Impala screeching slightly as he took the corner to exit a little too fast. He patted her dashboard as he pulled onto the street, a silent apology.

            He ignored the lightheadedness he felt, as he had the invitation to rest a while before leaving, and fumbled around in the seat next to him for his cell phone.

            He swiped to his contacts, tapping on his brother's name before putting the call on speaker phone.

            "Sammy." He shouted when the boy answered.

            Sam's voice came through with little static, "Dean, hey. How'd it go?"

            "It was, uh, fine. We can talk about it later, you hungry?"

            "Starving."

            "Good, I'll grab some burgers on my way."

            "Jess is here, too."

            Dean huffed, "And a salad. You know, Sam, a burger wouldn't hurt that girl."

            "She's a vegetarian, Dean." Sam grumbled.

            "Yeah, I get it. I'll her some rabbit food."

            Sam nearly growled through the receiver, "Dean, I don't understand why you can't be supportive of her."

            "Yeah, yeah, whatever."

            "Jerk."

            "Bitch."

            Dean ended the call and hopped on the ramp taking him south down the interstate. He drove just over the speed limit, a comfortable 58 miles per hour, with his arm out the window. Days like this always made Dean feel invincible; the warm sun, the clean air, the clear skies, it put a lot into perspective for him.

            He turned the volume of the radio up as a Kansas tune started, idly bobbing his head to the beat as he drove.

            He glanced out of the window as the highway bridged a lake and found himself momentarily caught up in the scenery; the still water reflecting the blue of the sky, the greens of the trees bordering it, even the brown tones of the ground that escaped into the edge of the water.

            He imagined himself jumping into the lake, from the ground, then from the trees and the boulder that was wedged between two tall oaks. He imagined the water splash out around him and into a smaller pool of the same shade of blue.

            Dean shook his head as Castiel's eyes came into view in his mind.

            _What the hell?_ he thought, but he couldn't shake the image, so blue, so bright, so...

            "Shit!" He cursed as he passed the exit he needed to take. He felt his face burn with embarrassment, despite the fact that he was alone in his car.

            He threw his blinker on and merged into the right lane, quickly taking the next exit and backtracking into town.

 

            He made it home in just under a half hour, a large brown paper bag tucked tightly under his arm, and a six pack of beer in his hand when he walked through the door.

            "Honey, I'm home!" He called out, placing the bag and beer on the kitchen table with a rather loud _thud_.

            Sam appeared from the other room in seconds. "Thank God, I'm starving." He whined, grabbing plates and condiments from the other side of the kitchen.

            Dean raised his eyebrows as Jess walked into the room.

            "Hiya Jess, nice shirt." He winked for good measure.

            Jess smiled sheepishly, crossing her arms over her chest. Not that it helped much. In fact, much to Dean's pleasure, it only pushed her breasts further out of the low neckline she was wearing.

            Dean opened the take out bag as Sam and Jess sat down. He pulled each item out and read them aloud, a melody almost present in his voice.

            "A bacon burger for me, a mushroom burger for Sam, and a southwest black bean salad for Jess." He handed the food out, adding as Jess grabbed her food from him, "There's no tofu or anything, but the guy said it was their best salad."

            Jess smiled, surprised by the older boy's sweetness, "Thank you, Dean."

            Dean smiled at her in return, ignoring a look from his brother that said ' _kiss ass_ '.

            The three ate in silence for several minutes, treating the meal as if it was the first one they'd had in days.

            Dean was still gorging on his burger when he noticed the exchange between his brother and his girlfriend. Jess was nudging Sam's arm, gesturing toward Dean with a slight tilt of her head. Sam was giving her a look, the pleading, puppy dog eyes he usually gave when he wanted to get out of something.

            Dean sighed and dropped his burger to his plate, waiting for Sam to look up at him.

            Sam cleared his throat, afraid to turn a good moment into an uncomfortable one.

            "So, Dean, how did the treatment go?" He winced prematurely.

            Dean shrugged, picking his burger back up, "It, uh... I mean, its _chemo_. It went fine, I guess. I made a friend." He sunk his teeth into the bacon-y goodness.

            Sam snorted; Jess whacked him. Dean looked at them both through his eye lashes.

            "You would make a _friend_ in a hospital. What's she like? Did you even get her name?" Sam held his stomach as his laughter continued.

            Dean glared at his brother, fuming. His eyes shifted between him and Jess, catching the apologetic, and horrified, look on her face.

            " _His_ name," he said, looking straight at Sam, "is Castiel, and I met him in the infusionarium."

            "Oh, a guy?" Sam asked, teasing.

            "Bitch."

            "Jerk."

            Jess leaned forward, lightly touching Dean's wrist from across the table, "I think that's great. Now you don't have to sit through treatment alone."

            Dean nodded in agreement.

            "What's he like?" She pressed.

            Dean shrugged again, "I don't know, he's uh, he's cool." Castiel's eyes flashed into Dean's mind again; big and blue, and staring right at him. _Shit._

            Dean stood up, "Listen, I gotta go to the shop for a little tonight."

            "Tonight?" Sam asked, "Isn't it closed already?"

            "Yeah," Dean started, moving to clear his trash, "but with the treatments killing most of my days, Bobby said I could come in after hours and do a little clean up and some odd jobs."

            "Hmm," Sam nodded his head, "maybe I could pick up a few more hours at work, or-"

            "Sam, no. You don't need to do that, I've got it covered."

            "But Dean - "

            "I said no, Sammy. You need to focus on school right now, that degree is important. Besides, you don't even like that carpentry crap you're doing."

            Sam sighed, "I don't hate it as much as I used to. Benny's been giving me some cool projects to work on."

            Dean shook his head, "Forget about it, Sam. I've got things under control."

            "Dean," Sam whined.

            "Don't." Dean pointed a finger at his brother before shrugging on his jacket. "I'll see you guys later."

            Sam sighed again as the front door clicked closed behind Dean.

            "I've got to do something." He said to no one in particular.

            Jess turned to face him, taking his hands in hers, "We'll figure it out, baby, don't worry."

            Sam nodded, trying hard to convince himself she was right.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't forget about this story, life just gets in the way sometimes. I will try my best to keep up with it and not wait a year in between updates. Thanks to everyone who has stuck around. :)

**-3-**

 

            Dean huffed as he settled into the driver's seat. He didn't have anywhere to go, not really. Sure, Bobby, being the caring father-like figure that he was, _had_ mentioned to him that he wouldn't cut his pay and he could clean the shop at night _if he wanted to_ , but it wasn't a set in stone deal.

            He sighed, weighing his options. He could take off, drive around for the night, find some pretty lady to pour his soul into until the morning. That would clear his mind for sure, of everything that was troubling him; his cancer, _his life,_ Sam's apparent drive to step up and be the big brother, and those stupid blue eyes he couldn't seem to shake.

            _Or..._ Dean thought, cocking his head to side as if he was giving someone an ultimatum, he could go to the shop and immerse himself in some type of busy work and ignore everything else.

            Yeah, he liked that idea. Bobby's place would be as clean as a whistle by morning.

            He started the impala and drove west, further into town.

            The _Singer's Auto Shop_ sign was still light when he pulled into the lot. Dean wondered if Bobby was still hanging around, or if he had simply forgotten to turn it off. His suspicions were confirmed when he walked into the unlocked garage and found Bobby asleep with his head down on his desk, his blue ball cap askew on his head.

            Dean considered leaving him be for a moment. Bobby was a hard worker. He was a bit of a brute, sure, but he ran a mean business, and Dean, much like everyone else in and around this town knew that under that grease stained gruff exterior, Bobby was a sweetheart. He had practically raised Dean and Sam when they were growing up. He taught Dean everything he knew about cars, and had offered him a job at his shop the day he turned sixteen.

            Dean could also recall the amount of times, on both hands, that Bobby had stepped in and stood up for the brothers when their father had shown up, drunk off his ass, with another insane demand that they go with him on his next "adventure", or so he called them. Sam had always wanted to go, and days later Bobby would have to find them, sit them both down and explain how John was being detained for one reason or another. It took a few years for Sam to understand, but eventually he became just as angry and non-expectant as Dean when it came to their father.

            Dean pushed the thoughts from his mind, looking at the clock above Bobby's desk. It was only seven p.m. on a Monday night, the poor schmuck had the whole week ahead of him. He shuffled over to the sleeping man and gently rustled him awake.

            "Bobby, hey," He said quietly, so as not to spook him.

            Bobby shot up from, obviously startled despite Dean's effort, and straightened when he saw the boy next to him.

            "What're you doin' here, boy?" He nearly grunted the words. Dean was surprised he made them out.

            He smirked, "Kicking your ass out of here," and when Bobby simply looked at him, one eyebrow lifted, he added with a light sigh, "I'm here to clean the place."

            Bobby shook his head as Dean held his arms open to the room, "You don' need to do that."

            "Yes, I do." He countered.

            Bobby sighed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, "Dean, I told you - "

            "I know what you told me," Dean interrupted, "and I'm telling you that I'll be here, every night, anytime you need something done."

            "I don't," Bobby began, but Dean cut him off again, his voice getting deeper.

            "I'll do inventory, I'll sweep the floors, I'll organize the bays. Hell, I'll scrub the walls if you want."

            Bobby grit his teeth, "Damnit Dean, just stop." His voice was rough, stern, and Dean just stared at him, feeling much like the little boy that Bobby used to yell at for touching things he wasn't supposed to in this very same garage.

            He saw something flicker across Bobby's face, hurt, pity, a protectiveness he hadn't seen in some years; and in that moment he was overwhelmed. It occurred to him, as it had so many times before, how much more of a father Bobby was to him, and Sam, than his own father ever was, starting with the fact that unlike his father, Bobby hadn't run at the first sign of Dean's cancer.

             Bobby had given so much when John had given so little; a place to stay, food to eat, he'd spent his own paycheck on clothes for the boys when they out grew what they had. He had even offered, well more like demanded if Dean remembered correctly, to pay Sam's way through college. Thankfully Sam's full scholarship had stifled that, to both of the boys relief.

            Dean felt hot tears toy at the corner of his eyes. No, he wouldn't cry, he was a man Goddamnit, and if there was anything he had learned from his father, it was that men didn't cry. But Dean wasn't used to the kindness Bobby showered him with. Even after all these years he still found himself flustered and uncomfortable, not to mention baffled that one man could care so much for someone who wasn't his own blood, wasn't anything to him really.

            Despite his father's constant nagging voice in his head about _being a man_ , Dean couldn't keep his tears from falling. He couldn't help it, he was an emotional person. He felt a tear roll down his cheek, leaving an uncomfortably wet, and itchy, streak across his skin. He sniffled, forcefully holding back the rest of his tears.

            It was another minute before Bobby spoke again, his voice nearly startling Dean.

            "You can't do this alone, kid." There was a gentleness to his voice that Dean wasn't expecting; a sadness, but Dean didn't relent.

            "I won't take any more from you." He snapped, feeling much less mature that he had hoped.

            "Dean, please."

            "No, Bobby!" His voice cracked, tears falling freely now. "No. Why can't you get that? I don't want your money for nothing. I don't want your pity... I don't want anything." He broke off sobbing into his arm.

            He heard Bobby move from behind his desk, he was approaching him now.

            "It ain't pity, you idgit. You're family, and helping each other out is what family does. It's what I've always done for you boys." He paused, trying to think of a way he could get it through Dean's, annoyingly so, thick skill. "It's what you've always done for Sam." He manages, and Dean looks up at him.

            Bobby sighs, "Do you think Sam would be where he is, _law school_ , if you hadn't kept on him all those years? After what happened to your mom, through all the shit your father put the two of you through? Anyone else with a childhood like yours would have given up, but not you. You pushed that boy like he was your own, you gave him everything you had, I saw it. Every day I saw it, and you still give to him. You're mom would be proud to know that her boys never gave up on each other.

            An' what's happening right now ain't fair. You know that, I know that, hell Lucifer knows that. But you can't do it alone, you won't. You're gon' take my help, and you're gon' let Sam get another job because he can handle it, and God damnit Dean, you're gon' let us take care of _you_ for once."

            Dean couldn't stop the sobs bubbling up from his chest now; couldn't keep up with the tears that fell down his face, soaking his sleeve. He opened his mouth, only able to choke out one word, "Bobby."

            He didn't care how he sounded helpless, vulnerable. As the name left his lips, Bobby was closing the space between them, pulling Dean into a warm, albeit awkward, embrace. He cradled his head as Dean pressed his face into his shoulder.

            Bobby's voice was calm, "It's okay, boy. It's gon' be okay."


	5. Chapter 4

**-4-**

 

            Dean woke the next morning, exhausted, to a soft knock on his bedroom door. He groaned as his eyes opened, the light streaming in through his bedside window momentarily blinding him.

            "Come in." He said groggily, rolling over under the sheets to face the door.

            Sam peeked his head through the door, opening it only a crack, "Hey," he said, concern heavy in his voice.

            Dean resisted the urge to groan again. Sam was checking in on him, that much was obvious, and he hated it.

            "Hey." He said in return, instead.

            Sam hesitated before opening the door wider and stepping into the room. Dean couldn't decide if he was dressed for work or school in his faded jeans and Carhartt plaid, but he supposed it didn't matter.

            Sam cleared his throat, "Bobby called this morning."

            Dean rolled his eyes before pointedly looking at Sam, who raised his hands slightly in defense.

            "He just wanted me to check that you were okay."

            "I'm fine, Sam." The words were more harsh than Dean intended, and a small wave of guilt hit him as Sam winced at the exchange.

            Dean threw the bed covers off of him and huffed as he rolled off the mattress. The air was cold against his bare chest and he mentally chewed Sam for needing the A/C on at all hours of the day and night.

            He padded his way across the room to the connected bathroom, barely stopping when Sam spoke.

            "What happened last night?"

            Dean merely shook his head before disappearing into the bathroom.

            Sam was at the door in a second, his large hands on both sides of the door frame, nails picking at the bubbled paint. He watched in silence as Dean rinsed his toothbrush under the running water, added toothpaste and stuck it in his mouth before cocking his head toward him.

            There were two signature looks Sam gave that Dean couldn't resist. The first, which he was pretty sure could make anyone - man, woman, child, mythological creature - weak in the knees, was his puppy eyes. God, the kid was so good at them. He always had been, and he knew it. He could stop the apocalypse with those eyes, Dean was sure of it. The second look, which he was sporting right this moment, was one that Dean liked to call his _Bitch Face_. It was annoying as all hell, but there was something in that look that made Dean feel small, like he was the little brother, and he fell victim to it too often.

            He spoke through a mouth full of foaming toothpaste, "I don't want to talk about it."

            "Dean."

            Dean spit and turned back to his brother, "Sammy, it's seven thirty in the morning, I don't want to get into it."

            Sam's face softened, "Okay."

            "I'm gonna go for a run, d'ya wanna join?" Dean tried to change the subject, complete with a charade of running in place, but it fell short on Sam.

            "Do you think that's a good idea?"

            Dean rolled his eyes, "Yes, Sam, I think it's a fine idea."

 

            Turns out, it wasn't that fine of an idea. Dean made it two blocks before he had to stop, place his hands on his knees, and remind himself how to breathe.

            Anger rose inside of him, he could feel it like hot balls of fire under his skin. They matched the fire that swarmed around his throat, screaming for relief. He turned around and headed back to the house, forcing himself into a slow jog against his body's will.

            He wasn't going to fall apart like this. He wasn't going to fall victim to this cancer, certainly not this early on, and he wasn't going to let his health stop him from doing what he loved.

            He spent the entire length of his shower leaning against the wall, trying to shake the feeling that the room was spinning. It took him longer than usual to wash; afraid he might fall, he kept one hand wrapped firmly around the bar built into the wall.

 

*

 

            "Woah, you look like crap."

            Dean forced a smirk at Cas as he slid into the seat beside him, "Nice to see you too." He took a deep breath, settling further into the chair.

            Cas eyed him suspiciously, "What happened?"

            Dean was beginning to hate that question. He thought about lying; making up some story that didn't make him out to be weak, but as he looked up and met Cas' eyes, the words fell effortlessly from his lips.

            "I tried to go for a run this morning." He rolled his eyes, "I barely made it down the street before I couldn't breathe anymore."

            Cas hid his mouth behind his hand as he chuckled. Dean turned his head and glared at him; a look crossed between anger and panic.

            "I'm sorry," Cas said, nearly coughing, "I did the same thing after my first day of chemo."

            Dean cocked an eyebrow, "Really?"

            Their conversation was paused as a nurse approached and began busying herself with hooking Dean up for his treatment. He watched her closely as she pulled the strap of his tank top down until it rested under his armpit, revealing half of his chest, and hooked the IV she had in her hand to his central line before moving to set a time on the pump beside him. He eyed that as well; four hours to go.

            Cas resumed his thought as soon as the nurse stepped away, "I used to run marathons. It was kind of my thing." He confessed, shrugging lightly.

            Dean didn't miss the pink blush that reached Cas' ears, and tried not to smile. Something fluttered in his chest, and as Cas quieted, Dean's heart thudded.

            "I used to hate running," The words came out rushed, "Sammy got me into it though when we were in high school, said it would be a good _bonding activity_." He added air quotes around the last words. "Then I kind of got addicted to it."

            Cas smiled, understanding. He'd been addicted to running since his childhood; he loved how free it made him feel. He realized quickly that there was something tugging at him, something he didn't understand. It had nothing to do with the way Dean had spoke of running. No, it was something else.

            He looked up at Dean then, "Sam is your..." He let the question hang in the air.

            Dean rushed to answer his new friend, "Brother. Younger brother."

            Cas let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding in.

            "He's the greatest. Got a full ride to college to study law all on his own. He's like, the smartest kid I've ever met."  

            Cas smiled, "You seem very fond of him."

            Embarrassment flooded Dean. Sure, he was proud of Sammy, he practically raised him himself for God's sake, but he knew how weird it was to gush about his little brother, especially to someone who barely knew him.

            "I'm sorry." He said lamely.

            Cas shook his head, "No, don't be. I like to hear about people. You don't meet many stuck in here."

            Dean blinked, "Do you live here?"

            Cas shrugged, "More or less." He paused, trying to feel Dean out before he continued. Here the two of them sat, chests exposed, toxic chemicals pumping into their bodies, what did he really have to hide?

            "I compare it more to dormitory life. I can't live at home, so I board here. My old man kicked me out, but he couldn't kick me off his health insurance, so I'm making the most of it."

            Dean raised his eyebrows; a tough old man, that he could relate to.

            "Is there anyone else our age around here?" He didn't miss the small smile form on Cas' face from the casual banter.

            "I've met a few others at the support group, but I've never really clicked with anyone." He paused for a moment again, taking the chance to glance over at Dean, letting his eyes fall across his half exposed chest. "I mostly keep to myself."

            Dean bit back a grin at the attention, his skin feeling hot where Cas' eyes fell. He blushed slightly as Cas brought those deep blue's up to his face before speaking softly.

            "You should come with me sometime, to the group."

            Dean held his gaze for a moment before nodding his head up and down, but not breaking eye contact.

            "Okay."

            There was a loud _crash_ outside the room, startling them both, breaking their contact. They shared a laugh as their heart rate monitors beeped beside them.

            Dean peered over at Cas' chair, reaching his hand across to his seat and pointing to his lap, "What're you working on there?" He asked as Cas scribbled something down onto a piece of worn out notebook paper.

            Cas blushed again, turning the paper upside down, away from Dean's sight.

            "It's a, um, bucket list of sorts." He said carefully.

            Dean was intrigued, "Can I see it?"

            "Why?" Cas asked, slightly more accusing than he'd meant to.

            Dean shrugged, "I dunno, just making conversation."

            "Conversation is talking Dean, not reading other peoples things."

            Dean drew his hand back to his own lap, sulking into his chair.

            "Sorry." He tried to keep his voice still, his stomach fluttering from the way Cas had stammered his name. If Cas didn't want to share what he was working on, that was fine. It's not like they were friends anyway.

            Dean pulled his phone out from his pocket, opening up one of his strategy games, trying to immerse himself in something else to pass the time.

            Several minutes later, as he was just about to send his troops marching into enemy territory, a piece of paper was waved in front of his face.

            "Dude, what the hell?"

            "You can read it if you'd like."

            Dean's mouth twitched into a smirk and he reached for the paper. Cas pulled it away before he could grasp it between his fingers.

            "Please keep your comments to yourself."

            Dean grabbed the paper from him, "My comments?" he asked, a sarcastic tone to his voice.

            Cas glared at him, "Dean, give it back."

            "Relax, I'm just teasing you." He said as he looked over the paper.

            It _was_ a bucket list. It wasn't long though, and some of the things had already been crossed out. He let his eyes linger on each line as he read them.

 

Swim with sharks

Go on a ghost hunt

Drive a Chevy impala

~~Learn another language~~

Fall in love

~~Learn to cook~~

~~Sky dive~~

Catch a ball in the stands at a baseball game

~~Get a tattoo~~

Go skinny dipping

Attend a music festival

Be in two places at once

Sleep under the stars

Find a Polaroid camera and take pictures of everything

Make a difference in someone's life

 

            Dean smiled as he made his way down the list, then back to the top again. He looked over at Cas who was watching him with careful eyes.

            "A Chevy impala, huh?"

            Cas tilted his head, "Dean."

            Dean narrowed his eyes, "Cas."

            "What are you doing?"

            "I'm making conversation."

            "You're commenting."

            Dean chuckled. He looked down at the paper again before looking up at Cas, blue eyes practically burning a hole through his head.

            "So, what, like a shiny new red Impala?"

            Cas scoffed, "No."

            Dean raised his eyebrows, something close to excitement bubbling in his chest. He silently apologized to his Baby who was sitting just across the hospital, on the fourth floor of the parking garage, and glanced at Castiel from the corner of his eyes.

            "Certainly not one of those old hunks of junk, though?"

            Cas' voice took on a defensive edge, "Am Impala is classic car, Dean, _not_ a hunk of junk."

            Dean had to force a snort; of course he knew that, he treasured his, but he was having too much fun.

            "What year are we talking?"

            Instead of speaking, Cas lifted his pen and reached into Dean's lap, pressing the pen to the paper, locking it between the ball point and Dean's jeans. He scribbled '66/67' next to where he had previously written 'Drive a Chevy Impala'.

            Dean's breath caught in his through as Cas peeked up at him, his blue eyes piercing beneath his dark lashes.

            "I'm, uh, sure that won't be too hard." He grinned, shifting beneath the gaze.

            "What - " Cas began, but Dean cut him off before he could ask any question about it.

            "Sky diving is crossed off?"

            Cas eyed him warily, but didn't press, "Yeah," he said looking down at his hands, "My brother took me for my twenty-first birthday."

            "Sounds terrifying."

            "It really was."

            Dean's eyes widened at the thought and Cas laughed. Not the way he'd laughed earlier with Dean, or the way he'd laughed yesterday. He laughed loud, his eyes crinkling and his teeth exposed.

            Dean had to tear his eyes from Cas' face or risk his cheeks bursting from the intensity of his smile. His eyes made their way back to Cas' bucket list, a feeling of longing rising in his chest. What would it take for him to make his own? What would it take for him to help Cas cross off a few of his ideas?

            Seeing Cas' attention was still elsewhere, Dean opened the camera on his cell phone and quickly took a picture of the list, for reference. Just in case.


End file.
